An Experiment in Handholding
by cactusnell
Summary: On a cold Saturday in February, Sherlock finally invites Molly for coffee. And handholding. But does he have something more in mind? Sherlolly


It was a Saturday morning in February, and Molly Hooper should be in bed. But, being as it was no fun at all if you were in bed all alone, she had arisen early, made herself a large breakfast, and was currently gathering her coat, scarf, and bag to prepare for a day out. She had no particular plans. Maybe some shopping. Maybe a visit to the Watsons. Mary Watson was due to deliver a baby girl in the near future, and she was currently annoyed at her hovering helicopter of a husband, and her own blimp-like proportions. It may be a kindness to drop in on her. Maybe she could talk her into lunch, or a trip to Harrod's!

Molly was bouncing down her front steps, still contemplating her itinerary, when she practically bounced headlong into Sherlock Holmes, who barely ever saw this early hour on a Saturday morning, except from the opposite direction. He did, however, look amazingly rested. And simply amazing, as always. Molly had been seriously infatuated with the man for years, right up to the time she fell seriously in love with him, but she had long since gotten over that hopeful, "what if" stage. She was in love with him, he wasn't in love with her. And it wasn't the end of the world. After all, these things happen. She hadn't exactly shut herself up in a convent, or fallen on a sword. They had become friends, good friends. But every so often, if she hadn't had the chance to prepare herself, as she hadn't this morning, her breath would catch in her throat, and she would be overcome with his presence, his nearness, if only for the briefest of moments.

"Sh-sh-sherlock!", she managed to stammer when he caught her in his arms as she hurtled down the steps.

The tall man held her steady for a few seconds, smiling down at her with those wonderful eyes, before saying, "Molly. Just who I was looking for!"

"I should hope so! Unless you've taken to paying clandestine visits to the trollop on the third floor!"

"Really? There's a trollop on the third floor? Perhaps I should look into that."

"Right. Like you care, Sherlock," Molly rolled her eyes. "So what brings you here so early on a Saturday morning? It's only a little past nine. I thought you were experimenting all night and sleeping all day these days!"

"It wasn't working out for me. My circadian rhythms are all over the place. So I've decided to get back on track. I'm here to take you to breakfast, Molly!"

"No thank you, Sherlock. I've already had a huge breakfast, and now I'm off to grab the day by the throat!"

"Coffee, then?" the detective insisted.

"What's going on then, Sherlock? What do you need?"

"At the moment, just coffee. We'll see about later!" And with that he grabbed hold of Molly's hand and dragged her off toward a main street in search of a cab, evidently.

Molly Hooper was certainly taken aback by the contact. Sherlock usually didn't like physical contact, although he had grown more comfortable with it of late, often leaning in to kiss her on the cheek as he took his leave. He tended to do this when they were alone, never in front of others, as if afraid that it would be taken as a sign of weakness. Yet, here he was, not letting go of her hand as they walked along, Sherlock searching the rows of passing vehicles for a taxi, Molly content to alternate her gaze between him and their entwined fingers. When he finally secured transport, Molly was even more surprised when he still did not let go!

"So, where are we going, Sherlock?"

"There's a new patisserie that opened up near Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson has given it rave reviews, although I think that has rather more to do with the proprietor's dashing elderly father, than the quality of the food. But their coffee is excellent, brews from around the world Lots of that frou-frou stuff you like, as well, Molly."

"So, you came all the way to my flat, to drag me back to your neighborhood?"

"Yep," he replied, popping the P.

"Just for coffee?"

Same answer, same pop.

"There's no corpse you need help disposing of at the flat, I suppose?"

"Nary a one, Dr. Hooper. John and I took care of that yesterday. Your talents as a pathologist are not required on this occasion. You may consider this your day off!"

"I had been considering it my day off, until you arrived!"

Molly decided to content herself with the handholding, and wait for the inevitable let down to come.

Sherlock had been correct about the establishment. The coffee was, indeed, excellent. And, despite the fact that she had already eaten, Molly allowed him to persuade her to have a giant French pastry, while he downed the largest breakfast she had ever seen the man consume.

"Are you stockpiling calories, Sherlock? Planning on running a marathon, or doing some heavy lifting?"

"That depends. How far can you run, and how much do you weigh, Dr. Hooper?" Sherlock chuckled a bit as he responded, but the small woman looked at him as if she didn't understand his humor. Which she didn't, in fact.

When they finally finished, Sherlock surprised her by ordering two coffees to go, taking one, handing her the other, and grabbing her hand once again to lead her to the small park nearby. When he plopped her down on a chilly bench, thankfully in full morning sunlight, Molly was the first to speak. "Rather cold to be sitting on a park bench in February, don't you think?"

"Drink your coffee. It will help keep you warm."

The woman should't really have complained. She was barely feeling the cold at all, what with the warmth spreading up her arm from their still joined hands. The park was surprisingly crowded, but she supposed that was to be expected. After all, it was a sunny Saturday in a crowded city, despite the chill. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

"How do you mean, Molly?"

"With this, you git!" She lifted their joined hands, practically shaking them in his face.

"Don't you like it? I thought you would, given that you tend to be a much more tactile person than I."

"I do rather like it, but I'm surprised. You're not usually so 'touchy-feely!"

"Well, I suppose that would depend on who I'm touching, and what I'm feeling, wouldn't you agree, Molly?"

Molly certainly knew who he was touching, but had not a clue as to what he was feeling. "Sherlock…"

The detective made a mildly impatient noise, before saying, "Molly, look around. There are other people here, right?"

"Yes…" Molly saw a few mothers with children occupied near the swings. An elderly couple holding hands on a park bench, some teenagers engaged in a public display of affection, and any number of others, in pairs and otherwise.

"We are not the only couple holding hands, are we?" Molly barely heard him, taken aback as she was by his referencing them as a "couple". "So, disallowing the mother over there trying to drag her screaming hellion of a son away from the swing, what do you suppose the other couples holding hands have in common?"

"They're friends?" Molly said hesitantly, and with an implied question mark.

"Nonsense, Molly. John and I are friends, and contrary to Mrs. Hudson's opinion, we have never once held hands! No, Molly, the thing these couples have in common is that they have all either had sex, or plan at some point to have sex, or are thinking right this moment about having sex, or are…"

"Sherlock, what are you saying…"

"That I want to have sex. With you."

"Really?" Molly's blush was now definitely keeping her warm, so the coffee was no longer required.

"Why is that so bloody hard to believe, Dr. Hooper!", the detective practically shouted at her. " I am a healthy male, after all. I do have a libido, despite the fact that I tend to ignore it. And you are a beautiful woman. Whom I care for very deeply…"

"Really?"

"Again with the 'really', Molly? Must you be so repetitive! I told you you matter the most to me! Did you think I was lying?"

"Of course not, Sherlock. I just didn't know that you meant you, well,.."

"Loved you? There, I've said it! Can we have sex now, Molly? Or must I buy you flowers, and take you to dinner, and the theater? All of which seems a ridiculous waste of time, considering how long we've known each other! But if that is what it takes…"

"And that's why you're holding on to my hand for dear life?"

"That, and the fact that I was half convinced you'd do a runner on me! Remember, you did make a joke about running a marathon, and doing heavy lifting? I was merely preparing for the eventuality," Sherlock said with a smirk.

"So. Sex. With me. Now?"

"Well as soon as possible. I'm beginning to feel a bit, uh, anxious. And tense. But right now may be out of the question, as we are in a public park, and I think what I have planned may be illegal, at least in public. Beside, the cold may not be conducive…"

But Molly had slipped her hand out of his, and quickly dashed away, calling over her shoulder with a rather abandoned laugh, "Race you back to Baker Street, Sherlock!"

But the smaller woman didn't stand a chance against the tall man's longer strides. With any luck, she thought, he would be naked in bed waiting for her by the time she closed the gap!


End file.
